


Senses Over Time

by NelyafinweFeanorion



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Established Relationship, Gift Fic, M/M, Minas Tirith, Romance, Sensual Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2018-02-23
Packaged: 2019-01-07 19:33:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12239280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NelyafinweFeanorion/pseuds/NelyafinweFeanorion
Summary: Legolas and Elrohir in Minas Tirith, years after the War of the Ring. A brief moment early and late in the same evening. I thought they could use some time alone.





	1. In Minas Tirith

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Cheekybeak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheekybeak/gifts).



> This is a gift fic for the amazing Cheekybeak. Takes place at the timeframe of events in her incredible fic "Fire Dancing Upon Our Souls." Please read that remarkable story--it is such a complex, revealing characterization of both Legolas and Elrohir.  
> The idea came to me from the September Teitho prompt which was "senses." It seemed to fit these two characters best.  
> So here is a short bit of sensual fluff for these boys.  
> My thanks to Cheekybeak for the inspiration, for the stories and for letting me play in her bit of the Tolkien universe.

 

Elrohir found him outside, as he expected, seated on the stone balustrade. His arms were wrapped around his bent knees and the golden head was pillowed on them.

Elrohir had not expected to be the one sent to search for Legolas. He had wanted to, oh how he had wanted to be the one to find him. But he had deferred first to Maewen and then to Gimli, when she demurred.

Both had shaken their heads at him, remarkably similar expressions on their faces; he would have labelled them fond, if he didn't know better.

Enough, he admonished himself. He had found the missing Legolas. It was in moments like this that the hardened warrior that Legolas most surely was faded to the background and the lost, lonely child of the forest surfaced.

Elrohir moved on silent feet, breathing out "Legolas" to alert the other to his approach. Troubled green eyes lifted to meet his and Elrohir's heart lurched at the blonde Elf's precarious position on the wall. Centuries of life among the Silvan Elves of Lothlorien had still not prepared him for Legolas' questionable proclivity for finding the highest and most treacherous of perches.

The unblinking green eyes locked on his and Elrohir could see Legolas' chest heave with his rapid, uneven breathing. He crossed the space between them swiftly, ever mindful of the height where they found themselves. He hesitated momentarily then resolutely put his hand on the other's shoulder, feeling the fine bone structure and rigid muscle under the tunic.

"Breathe in," Elrohir whispered. The latest argument with Aragorn had taken its toll, it was plain to see. His hand rested gently on Legolas, feeling the quivering of his frame.

A long ago memory surfaced as he watched Legolas struggle to control his breathing. Arwen, still a small Elfling, had fallen from a tree and landed flat on her stomach, the wind completely knocked out of her. He remembered his father, hand on her shoulder just as his own was on Legolas', murmuring words to calm her down enough to let her draw a true breath.

The words returned to him now. "Legolas, what do you see? You don't have to speak, just look around you," he instructed.

The green eyes darted around. "Stone wall," came the strained reply.

"Good," Elrohir said, moving his arm to Legolas' back and gently rubbing soothing circles. "What do you hear?"

The golden head tilted, then stilled. "Music," he whispered. "From below."

"Yes, I hear it too," Elrohir agreed. He continued rubbing circles, feeling the rigidity diminish slightly in the other. "Now, what do you smell?"

That perfect nose wrinkled and then the nostrils flared. "Jasmine."

Elrohir nodded in agreement. The jasmine grew all around these walls, wild and untrammeled. Arwen did not allow the gardeners to force it out or into submission. The scent lingered in the air around them.

Elrohir stepped even closer, bringing his arm around Legolas' shoulders and gently guiding him down off the wall, to lean against his own taller frame. "What do you feel?"

Legolas' head dipped to rest against Elrohir's shoulder. His breathing was more regular, slower, deeper. "What do you feel?" Elrohir repeated.

"You. Warm," Legolas murmured, turning in his arms. His hands slid around Elrohir's waist, Elrohir's arms coming around Legolas' shoulders. A small smile crossed Elrohir's face as he rested his cheek against the silky, golden head. "You smell like Gimli's pipeweed," Legolas continued, a barely audible snort accompanying his words.

It was Elrohir's turn to wrinkle his nose. "You were the one sitting next to the dwarf," he complained. "Why must I smell like him?"

Legolas tilted his head to look up at him. "Maybe it's me that smells of it."

Elrohir kissed his forehead. "It's definitely you," he agreed, smiling down at the other Elf. He ran his hands down Legolas' arms. "Now what do you taste?"

Legolas licked his lips and took in a deep breath. "The salt of the sea."

They stood in silence, foreheads pressed together, their breathing matched now. Elrohir broke the quiet, opening his eyes to meet Legolas' own. "Are you ready to come back down? I'm sure Aragorn and Gimli are both smoking by now?"

"Must I?"

Elrohir stroked the hair back off Legolas' face and let his fingers drift to brush his cheekbone.  
"I have learned, the hard way, not to let words between friends or family fester through the night. You will both regret it if you do not put this to rest between you." His lips skimmed over Legolas' temple. "Come?"

__________________________________________________

Perhaps it was the aftermath of the argument with Aragorn, the taste of the salt that lingered on his lips, or the sea-breeze that had blown inland as they stood on the ramparts earlier in the night. Or all three--but the sea-longing had flared in Legolas this night.

Elrohir could see it in his eyes--storm clouds reflected in the green, dimmed by the longing. He slid into bed, fingertips ghosting over the silky surfaces of Legolas' bare skin. He could feel the quivering of muscles, the rapid breathing. "What do you see, Legolas?" he whispered, cupping his hands around Legolas' face.

"You," the blonde haired Elf breathed, his own hands sliding up to Elrohir's chest, making their way to his shoulders. The hands rested there for a moment, as Elrohir pulled him closer, then made their way down again, achingly slow.

Cool fingertips traced skin, muscles, circled Elrohir's nipples slowly, sending shivers through him. Elrohir swallowed, his throat dry, the words feeling thick in his mouth. "What do you hear?" he asked.

"Your voice," Legolas replied, turning his face to press his lips to Elrohir's palm.

Elrohir drew his breath in sharply, another involuntary shiver running through him. He kept his voice steady as he asked the next question. "What do you smell?"

Legolas dropped his head to Elrohir's shoulder, the stray strands of his hair tickling Elrohir's exposed chest. He could feel Legolas' lips tracing down his jawline, to his neck, to the hollow above his collarbone. "You," Legolas breathed into his skin, the heat of his mouth, his breath, arousing Elrohir even more.

Elrohir closed his eyes. His mouth was so dry. His fingers shifted to sink into those golden strands of hair, alternately gliding through it and tightening his grip as Legolas continued to explore his body with his mouth and hands.

Moments passed before he could speak again. He licked his parched lips. "What do you feel?" Elrohir asked, his voice husky with desire.

Those slender, calloused, archer's fingers had drifted lower. Legolas' breath was in his ear as Elrohir's own breath caught and came up short. "You," Legolas said again, his hands not slowing, making Elrohir breathe even faster, his body melting into the bed.

The lips drifted down, pausing to tease a nipple, further down to slide over the taut planes of Elrohir's abdomen, down lower still.

Just one more question, Elrohir told himself. "What . . . " He swallowed hard and took a deep breath before speaking again. "What do you taste?" he asked, his words barely audible, even to himself.

"You," Legolas said, his voice strong and steady, and then Elrohir was lost in sensation.


	2. In the Woodland Realm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Follow up gift fic for Cheekybeak. A second chapter for her lovely Elrohir/Legolas. This scene is based on cheekybeak's fic All of You-Legolas and Elrohir in the Woodland Realm.

The press of lips was still imprinted on Elrohir even though Legolas had leaned back to smile down at him.

It was hard to get the words out but once they started they came in a torrent. "Incandescent? That is not a word I ever thought to hear in reference to me." Grey eyes met the green ones, steady and warm above him. "It has always seemed a burden—fiery tempered, hot headed, impulsive, volatile—those are words I've heard to describe me. It has been a challenge to subdue it and control it, as you know."

"I would never want or expect you to subdue it, Elrohir. It is you—that fire is the light that blazes forth and leads me to you. I can sense it when you are not near me and when I am close the heat of it burns away the sea, the shadow, everything but you." Legolas fingers gently traced the planes of Elrohir's face. "You are so many things, my Elrohir. Warrior, scholar, healer, mentor. All facets of you, that make you who you are, unique and perfect," Legolas said.

Elrohir shook his head. "I am a warrior yes, but not the other things you mentioned, Legolas. Not scholar nor mentor and certainly not a healer. Those skills did not manifest in me."

The green eyes moved closer as Legolas leaned over him, strands of his golden hair falling on Elrohir's face and neck, the scent of him—green and crisp like the forest after rainfall, musk and spice, leather and wood, layering to his own unique fragrance—a scent Elrohir would recognize anywhere. "You are my healer, Elrohir. Deny it if you will but I know you make me whole."

His lips found Elrohir's again with an intensity that flushed heat through every part of him, all his focus coming down to the glide of their mouths and tongues against each other, the forest around them fading to just the green of Legolas' eyes.

Fingers gripped Elrohir's shoulders and he felt the weight of his companion on his body as Legolas moved to straddle his hips, the heat now moving to his groin at the contact.

His own hands slid into the golden hair, his mouth pulling away to mumble. "Not here."

Legolas pulled back, his hair still tickling Elrohir's face, to regard him with amusement. "The trees are but silent witnesses. They will not speak of what they see."

Elrohir flushed. "But this is a glade. You have patrols—we are not that far from the fortress."

The laughter from Legolas made him blush even more, much as he loved the sound of it. A fingertip traced Elrohir's lips. "My very proper Noldo. Have you never taken pleasure under a canopy of trees? Under the light of the stars?" His face grew more serious as he contemplated, moving off Elrohir to sit by his side. "But you have not, have you, my love? We are of this world. What greater place to celebrate our bond than with the trees, the sun, the stars to witness it?"

"It is not that . . ." Elrohir stumbled over his words. "It is not the location. It is just that there are others near. . . it is not what I am used to."

There was an uncharacteristic gentleness to Legolas' expression as he lightly placed his outstretched hand on Elrohir's chest. "No, I suppose not." A fond smile softened his features even further. "I have much to share with you then, in your time here." He grasped Elrohir's hand and pulled, rising effortlessly to his feet. "If this is too exposed we shall find another place to initiate you to love under the trees."

Elrohir stumbled after him, Legolas' hold on his hand steadying him. "It's not like I've never . . ."

"I know that," Legolas retorted. "But it is easy to see you prefer being indoors, sheltered and screened."

"I would think most people would," Elrohir muttered.

His companion's laugh rang out again at his words. "You will make me work to find that spark of Sindar that I know lies within you, won't you?"

"The Sindar are not Silvan," Elrohir said primly.

"True but they are far closer to our ancestors in Cuiviénen than their Noldor counterparts. Let me have some hope, Elrohir, of reaching that part of you." He tugged on Elrohir's hand again. "Come. There is a flet nearby if the glade is not to your liking."

Elrohir gave him an incredulous look. "Legolas. These woods are crawling with your father's guards and scouts. You can't be serious."

Legolas raised an eyebrow and proceeded to chirrup out an unfamiliar birdcall. Elrohir narrowed his eyes. Bird calls were not typically supposed to sound so amused.

"Problem solved, my Noldo. Come. Trust me no one will disturb us now."

A horrified realisation came upon Elrohir. "You didn't."

"I didn't what?" Legolas looked perplexed. He pulled on Elrohir's arm again but the larger Noldor didn't budge.

"You didn't just alert all the guards that. . . that . . . You know!" Elrohir spluttered.

"Really, Elrohir. First you worry about them stumbling upon us, then when I warn them not to disturb us that is not to your liking either?"

"Valar above, Legolas! I did not intend for you to alert them all about our private affairs!" Elrohir exclaimed.

Legolas sighed. "There is very little that is private among the Silvan, Elrohir. I warned them to stay away but to keep me informed of any unusual activity. The flet has screens and none will venture close. It will be just the two of us, I promise you."

"Can we not go back to your rooms in your father's Halls, Legolas?" Elrohir asked.

Legolas expression changed, the bright look faltering as his eyes met Elrohir's. "If that is what you prefer, we can," he said slowly. "But. . ."

Elrohir inhaled sharply at the change in Legolas' features and inwardly cursed himself. "But what, Legolas? What did you want to say?" His voice was softer and he drew closer to Legolas as he spoke, intertwining their fingers and sweeping a strand of Legolas' hair back as he did so.

"It is no matter, really. It is just that I had imagined this, us, in my woods-under the canopy of the trees-sharing our love in the Silvan way, in the forest."

Elrohir moved closer still, bending down to touch his lips to Legolas'. "Take me where you will, Legolas. This is your home. Teach me your ways," he whispered.

The flet was not far and Legolas led him to it swiftly. Elrohir's years of visiting Lothlorien stood him in good stead as he clambered up, his hands reaching from branch to branch as there was no ladder here. His progress was far slower than his counterpart's; when he looked up he glimpsed Legolas' grinning face above.

"You are more limber than I expected, my Elrohir. You do much better in the garb of the Greenwood than in your stiff leathers."

Elrohir, having finally reached the flet itself, drew near Legolas; he was still ill at ease though, peering at the trees surrounding them suspiciously.

Legolas bright laughter rang out again, unconsciously relaxing Elrohir's expression. "Even your sharp eyes will not see them. The scouts of the Greenwood are difficult even for one of their own to see. Trust me, they will stay away from this tree and the ones surrounding it." He stood and moved to the far side of the tree, yanking at a previously unseen rope.

A fabric, as finely woven as those of Lothlorien Elrohir noted, drifted down around them. It was dappled in appearance, a grey that seemed to shift in color as it rippled in the gentle wind—shifting from green to gold and back to grey. Elrohir reached out to touch it. It slipped through his fingers like gossamer, smooth and silky to touch. But it did not keep his attention long as hands slid around him from behind.

He turned to meet Legolas, his arms going around his companion, bringing his body flush to his own. Mouths met and fingers ran through his hair as Elrohir's grip on Legolas tightened further.

Legolas' hands drifted down to his shoulders, his chest, lingered at the lacings of his tunic. He made quick work of opening them to slide his hands against Elrohir's bare chest, causing him to draw his breath in sharply at the touch.

Elrohir's own hands did the same, Legolas impatiently pulling the tunic over his head when Elrohir did not move quickly enough.

"You are impatient," Elrohir murmured against his lips.

"When it concerns you, I most certainly am," Legolas replied, tugging at Elrohir's breeches, the fastenings already rapidly undone by his clever fingers. "You are slow, Noldo. Come. You cannot be shy with me anymore."

"I am not shy with you," Elrohir growled, stripping his tunic off and dropping it down carelessly. His fingers followed the planes of the muscles on Legolas' torso, lingering over his abdomen before he moved them further down.

In moments, all their clothing lay strewn about them on the flet and Legolas pushed Elrohir until his back was against the great trunk of the tree, the bark scraping at his back. The tree, the forest, the nearby fortress and guards—all were forgotten as the heat of Legolas pressed against him and the answering desire in his body overcame his senses. He threw his head back, overcome with what Legolas was doing to him, his unfocused eyes seeing only the green and gold canopy of leaves above him.

As green and gold as the Elf before him. The light breeze wafted over Elrohir's face, the buzz of insects and the cry of a hawk above him. His heart beat thrummed through him, faster and faster as the sensations coursed through his body until he was shuddering, the world blurring around him as he finally closed his eyes.

Green eyes met his own as Legolas stood and leaned into him. "Next time under the stars. I want to see their light reflected in your eyes, my love."


	3. Greenwood part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another scene in the Greenwood for cheekybeak.

  
Thranduil, in his inimitable Thranduil way, had ordered an elaborate farewell feast for Elrohir's last night in Eryn Lasgalen.  
  
Elrohir would have far preferred a quiet meal in private quarters; he suspected Legolas shared that wish, although he could not tell by looking at him.  
  
Legolas was every inch his father's son tonight: regal, detached, immaculate as he sat at Thranduil's side. If Elrohir did not know better he would declare Legolas looked as fit as the day the Fellowship departed from Imladris.  
  
If he did not know better.  
  
But Elrohir knew better. He could see the fine lines of tension running through the Wood Elf, could see the effort he was making this night. And it made him love Legolas even more than he did already, as if that were even possible.  
  
He watched Legolas politely incline his head, the mithril circlet he wore in deference to his father reflecting back the light of the torches. He appeared completely immersed in conversation with the animated Captain seated near them but Elrohir could tell the words were not sinking in.  
  
By the direction of Thranduil's gaze it appeared the King was well aware of his son's progressive distraction. He turned his attention to Elrohir.  
  
"You are still planning to leave at first light?" Thranduil asked him.  
  
Elrohir kept his face impassive but the question puzzled him. He intended to leave by midday, at the latest, not first light. He goal was to reach the river crossing before nightfall, an easy day’s ride. He had discussed his plan with the King earlier in the day--it was unlikely Thranduil had forgotten.  
  
He opened his mouth to clarify his planned departure time when he caught the look in Thranduil's eyes. Oh.  
  
Elrohir cleared his throat to cover his surprise and then responded. "Yes, I have a long journey ahead of me. Best to get on the road early, although I will regret having to leave the Wood. My sojourn here has been undeniably pleasant."  
  
"It has been my pleasure to host you here, Elrondion. You have succeeded in bringing my son back to my halls, something I have not managed so successfully the last few years." The hidden meaning was clear in Thranduil's words and Elrohir gave Thranduil a minute nod of the head in response.  
  
"You have more to do this evening to prepare, I take it?" It was not a question. Thranduil turned to his son. "Legolas, will you kindly escort our guest to his quarters. It seems Elrohir plans for an early departure and still has much to do to prepare."  
  
Legolas opened his mouth to disagree, knowing Elrohir was already packed and ready, having seen him do it with his own eyes just a few hours earlier.  
  
But then a mischievous expression crossed his face and Elrohir felt his heart thump at the sight.  
  
"Yes, of course," Legolas said smoothly, rising to his feet. "How remiss of me to forget. Come, Elrohir, do not linger here on our account when you have labours still ahead of you this night." His eyes danced as he beckoned to Elrohir.  
  
"I thought Father would never release us!" Legolas confided, when they had left the Great Hall behind them. "I told him a quiet meal in his study would be more than enough tonight but for appearances sake he insisted on all this formality." He grinned up at Elrohir, as he pulled the circlet off his head. "At least he arranged to excuse us early so we could enjoy our last night together."  
  
"Our last only for now, I hope," Elrohir said, unable to keep the want from his tone. "I will see you again, in Imladris perhaps, before you return to Ithilien?"  
  
They had reached his rooms. Legolas opened the door and pulled Elrohir in after him, shutting it firmly before sinking into Elrohir's embrace. "Must you truly leave tomorrow?" Legolas asked. "Surely you could spare a few more days?"  
  
Elrohir slipped his fingers into the golden hair, pulling Legolas closer. "You know I cannot stay when Maewen comes. It would not be fair to her."  
  
"She is not expected for at least another week. You know that." Legolas countered.  
  
Elrohir tilted that beloved face up so the green eyes were on his. "You know your father longs for time with you. I will not overstay, much as my heart yearns to. He has missed you, Legolas, and I have monopolized you unashamedly. He will treasure these days with you, before Maewen arrives."  
  
Legolas tugged on a strand of Elrohir's hair. "Why must you always be so sensible?"  
  
Elrohir could not help but smile at that description. "I dare say there are many who would argue the accuracy of that statement. Sensible is not a word often used in regards to me."  
  
A matching grin came over Legolas' face. "It is one that Gimli and Aragorn would heartily agree does not _ever_ apply to me." He pulled on Elrohir's hand, his eyes lighting up as he tugged him toward the door again. "Come! Let us live up to our reputations then!"  
  
Elrohir was bewildered. "Come where? Is this not where we should spend our night?" He resisted the pull on his hand.  
  
Legolas shook his head. "No, my Noldo, not your rooms." He arched an eyebrow. "I have a much better idea!"  
  
Elrohir was not sure how wandering through the kitchen constituted a better idea for their last night than his own inviting bed but he would indulge Legolas in almost anything when he was in such spirits. His grin was infectious and Elrohir was utterly defenseless against the roguish smile Legolas flashed him.  
  
They skirted past the harried kitchen elves and around the tables brimming with dirty crockery until they reached a small door set in an alcove. “Follow me,” Legolas said, reaching for Elrohir’s hand. He pulled a small door open and Elrohir trailed him outside.  
  
They were in a garden. Elrohir could tell by the scents surrounding him–basil, rosemary, thyme. It smelled like home, taking him back to the herb garden in Imladris. He closed his eyes as a wave of longing came over him. It had been too long since he had been home.  
  
An arm slipped around his waist and Legolas’ head dropped onto his shoulder. Elrohir opened his eyes to take in his surroundings. Even in the dim light he could see the neatly ordered rows of herbs and vegetables spread around him. A high stone wall surrounded the extensive garden and he could just see the crescent moon rising above it.  
  
He gathered Legolas in his arms, a small smile coming over him as he faced the Wood Elf in front of him. “I had not expected a garden tour,” Elrohir said. “Have you saved this surprise for my last night?”  
  
Legolas raised an eyebrow. “I did promise you an evening under the stars.” He burst out with a laugh at Elrohir’s puzzled expression and proceeded to pull them deeper into the garden.  
  
They found themselves in the shadow of the stone wall, the familiar scent of lavender in the air surrounding them. “Tell me of this promise of yours, Legolas. Why is it I cannot recall it?” Elrohir brought his forehead down to rest on Legolas’ and let his arms circle his companion’s waist.  
  
“You were somewhat distracted at the time,” Legolas said, moving close enough that his breath ghosted over Elrohir’s lips. Even after their recent weeks together that light touch made Elrohir shiver in anticipation.  
  
Their lips met gently, softly, the kiss slowly growing more heated with the contact. Elrohir trailed his mouth down Legolas’ neck, savoring the small sounds of pleasure he was eliciting. His hands gripped Legolas’ hips, bringing him so close that their bodies pressed together; he could feel the answering arousal in his companion. “Should we not return to my rooms now?” he breathed, his lips just brushing the shell of Legolas’ ear.  
  
Legolas pulled back so that their eyes met. “I promised you pleasure under the trees and under the stars, my Elrohir. I have only offered you the canopy of trees thus far—although you have indulged in that quite eagerly, after the first time.” There was suppressed laughter in his voice and a brightness in his eyes as he spoke.  
  
Elrohir groaned as he buried his face in Legolas’ neck, his cheeks flushing. “We are near the kitchen door,” he pointed out. “There are dozens of people just inside it.”  
  
Legolas made a disparaging sound. “We are nowhere near the door. None will venture here at night. They will be cleaning up after the feast for hours yet.”  
  
Elrohir lifted his head and looked up to scan the heights of the stone wall surrounding them. “You cannot tell me you do not have guards on these walls—this would be too vulnerable a portal into your kingdom otherwise.”  
  
It was Legolas’ turn to groan. “You are much easier to seduce indoors, my proper Noldo.” He regarded Elrohir mischievously. “Their eyes are trained outward, not amongst the herbs and vegetables. It is why we are down here in the shadows and not upon the wall, where the stars are clearer.” His face grew more serious. “Let me have this night with you, Elrohir. Let us share our love, here, under the stars--as our people were always meant to, since their Awakening under this very light.” He moved his hands to gently cup Elrohir’s face between them. “Look up, Elrohir. I want to see the stars reflected in your eyes.” He stepped closer, the warmth of his body reaching Elrohir even through the fabric of their clothes.  
  
Elrohir looked up. The light of Varda’s stars blazed forth, brilliant, bright and clear in the moon’s waning. He felt the touch of Legolas’ hands, traveling down his body, searing heat trailing in their wake. His own hands reached to sink into that glorious hair, dimmed to a shining silver in this light. He could see the stars reflected in Legolas’ eyes, a thousand shimmers highlighted in those green depths.  
  
Elrohir stepped closer to the wall, moving Legolas so that he was leaning against it. Their lips brushed against each other, Legolas’ hands sliding up Elrohir’s chest to twine around his neck. “I can let the guards know to avoid this section of the wall,” he whispered in Elrohir’s ear, a tinge of amusement in his voice. “I have done that for us before, as you well know.”  
  
Elrohir stifled his embarrassment, his impulse to whisk Legolas back to his rooms, his inclination to hide. That was not the Silvan way and the love of his life was a Silvan; Elrohir’s own forebears had awakened under this light, had shared their love under the stars, had loved without shame. And he would do the same, awkward as it may be for him to do so. “Surely they know we are here—we have not been particularly discreet,” Elrohir whispered back, his hands gently moving under Legolas’ tunic to skim over the warm skin beneath.  
  
“They know. Hadron marked our arrival. He will fulfill his duty on the wall but be circumspect to our location. Trust me, we are not the first to seek the gardens out for such a reason.” Legolas’ expression grew serious. “It has been many long years since we could roam freely in our wood at night, in the glades where the stars shine. It was perilous to let one’s guard down in such a way. This garden, the walkway by the barrel drop, the flets closest to our Halls—those were the only places we could love one another in the open air anymore.” He tilted his head back to contemplate the sky above them. “We are taking our realm back from the darkness and the danger. But for now, for you and I, on this night—this is the closest I can come to a place where we can lose ourselves in starlight.”  
  
Elrohir held Legolas’ face in his hands and drew him closer. “Then we must make the best of it. And when you come to Imladris, where the stars shine free in the safety of our valley—then we will celebrate our love wherever you would choose.”  
  
“You have almost convinced me. I did not find much joy or welcome on my first visit there,” Legolas admitted.  
  
“Then let me share my home with you as you have shared your own with me. And make new memories there, together.”  
  
“Enough talk, my Noldor. The night passes and you will leave me tomorrow.” Legolas grasped his face and roughly pulled him down. Their fingers skimmed over fabric, loosened fastenings, found bare skin to caress.  
  
His mouth covered Legolas’, the heat of their bodies melding together, fervent kisses, touches bringing them ever closer. Every caress imprinted in his memory. Every slide of their tongues a thousand words of meaning. But when Legolas’ questing hands reached his leggings Elrohir grasped them tightly and pressed them back against the stone. “No, not tonight. Tonight is for you.”  
  
Elrohir could not say if it was moments or hours later when he finally sank to his knees in the fragrant grass, reveling in the glide of calloused fingers in his hair. The guards, the garden, the very world around them—all faded away at the sight of the star-lit green eyes above him. No scent but Legolas’ own, no sounds but the ones he was drawing from his companion, no taste other than the salty tang of Legolas’ skin.  
  
  
  


 


End file.
